Saturday, August 30, 2008

Food for Thought

Here's some food for thought before you turn the tv on for your kiddies this weekend...

Friday, August 29, 2008

Be Grateful...

...I think I just threw up in my mouth...

HOWEVER... it does remind me of a little story... sit back, relax... and you might not want to be eating anything while you read this story... you may throw up in your mouth too...

Okay... sooooo I was THAT GIRL. My friends got asked out on lots and lots of dates and I was the "can't get her own date tag along friend" that got set up with the "pockmark faced, garlic breath, stuck in the 1980's bomber jacket (and possibly pedifile) " friend that also can't get a date roomate. It's okay, I embraced it. I got a lot of good ammo on my dear friends this way. When I said jump they said how high... or I guess that's how it's supposed to work right?

Anyway, my friend... lets call her Francis... meets "Lance the Studmuffin". Actually I think both Lance the Studmuffin and his lovely friend wore bomber jackets so maybe they were both pedifiles. Beside the point.

He's cute, charming aaaannnd, ready for the icing on the cake...

HE DRIVES A MOTORCYCLE (and wears a 1980's bomber jacket)

Tell me, who can resist a guy who drives a motorcycle. Not Francis.

"Oh, he's just dreamy...! I have an idea, why don't you go out with his friend [we'll call him Larry, Larry sounds like an appropriately creepy name right?] then we could double and I can have the best of both worlds: my man and my BFF! Wouldn't it be fun if we all got married (as in each individual couple, not all 4 of us, sorry I don't roll that way...)

Okay, I knew better. Up to this point, I've never had a good experience with a blind date (although later on... I did meat my Dream Guy and fall madly happily in love and live happily ever after thanks to a blind date gone good). BUUUUT I love my friend, I don't want to burst her little bubble full of puppies, rainbows and Prince Charmings riding off into the sunset. Plus she informs me that he rides a motorcycle too (although conveniently leaves out the 1980's bomber jacket and pedifile part) so I figure it can't be THAT bad right?!!! What rebelious teenager struggling to find her own identity can resist a blind date with a rebel on a motorcycle? Not me. The beauty of being a girl on a blind date is free dinner and a movie and an adrenaline pumping, hair destroying night on a motorcycle. Can't beat that right, even if the guy is a total twit (and possible pedifile).

So, we meet at the guys house. (we couldn't have two guys show up to pick us up at OUR houses on motorcycls. The night would be over before it began!)

Lance 'n Larry (ooohhh, that's sounding creepy already) come strutting out of the house. Wait... did I say Lance AND Larry?! Nooooo I meant just Lance. Larry was still GETTING READY. You see he takes longer to get ready than Tammy Faye.

He literally would pluck his eyebrows every day and would sit in front of the mirror with scissors evening out every single hair on top of his head. Welllll.... at least he wants to impress me riiiight??? hmmm....

There was a whole brigade of us going out on motorcycles for the night. Well, that's a plus... I've always wanted to be part of a motorcycle gang. And where does a Hog Posse go to impress their lady friends? Where else... VILLAGE INN... I kid you not. We really went to Village Inn. Now I'm not a snob, I'll eat wherever... I just thought it was pretty apprpriate....that's all I'm saying...

Okay, so we enter the restaurant and Larry turns to Lance the Studmuffin and stays, "Dude, I don't have any money... I'm going to go find an ATM, I'll be right back. And he turns and struts off. I looked at Lance the Studmuffin, back at Larry then back at Lance the Studmuffin. He shrugs his shoulders and says, "I've always wanted to have two dates! "

We sit down to dinner. Still no Larry. I order something small and budget friendly (although seriously eyeing that MOONS OVER MIHAMMY as I drench my shirt in drool.) Don't want to break the bank for Larry you know. Anyway, still no Larry. Our Tammy Faye look-alike waitress (appropriate don't you think.. if I can't have my date, why not his lookalike as my waitress?) brings us our dinner and asks with sickening pitty in her eyes, "Can I get you anything else hon?" Still no Larry. I devour my piece of toast and icewater and start on Francis' dinner. Still no Larry. The check comes. Still no Larry. Ummmm... see where this was going. I get up to head toward the kitchen to start washing dishes to pay for my morsel of food when Lance the Studmuffin proves what a Studmuffin he is. he pays for my meal... and asks if I can help cover the tip.... Still no Larry...

Luckily, one of the Chain Gang drove a car so he drives me back to the bachelor pad (I thought about having him take me home, but decided wisely against it... there are a lot of little kids that live on my street). We go inside "just for a minute" and find Larry sitting on the couch with the stinkiest, nastiest Mount Everest sized mountain of eggs you've ever singed your nose hair on. Did I mention it was drenched in ketchup? And that there was a little piece of egg hanging from the tip of his nose? (Maybe not that last part, but that was the only thing that could have POSSIBLY made me any sicker than I already was)... until.... he pats the couch next to me, winks at me and tells me to have a seat. I sat down on the bean bag chair on the other side of the room.

He calls to me, "sorry, I didn't have any money" I ignore him, not because I am mad at him for ditching me, but just HOPING that if I pretend he isn't there he will dissappear... or turn into Brad Pitt or anyone else in the world that doesn't make me want to blow chunks.

Now, you may be saying to yourself:
A. This is the worst date story EVER
B. Wow, this girl must be really really ugly
C. This can't possibly get any worse....

Well, the first two are subjective (and B is a retorical question thank you very much!) But if you guessed C... you are WRONG. Yes, sadly this story gets MUCH WORSE.

Everyone else gets cozy with their mates on the couch as I am curled up in a fetal position on the bean bag watching who knows what... just trying to block out my surroundings. I am doing a pretty good job zoning out and picturing my happy place (you know the one: gobs of luscious, gooey chocolate icecream dripping from my lips onto a crisp white shirt) when all of the sudden I smell the putrid odor of rancid eggs breathing down my neck and melting my skin like acid rain.

UUUUUGGGGGHHHH. TELL ME he is not seriously trying to spoon me?!!!! AAAHHHH (now is the point where you should imagine the sound effects from the shower scene of Hitchcocks Psyco). Yes... he was trying to spoon me. In fact... he was so close it was more of a spork because he was trying to intertwine his legs with mine. I curled up into myself even tighter and pretended to be asleep... for the ENTIRE 2 HOURS OF THE MOVIE.

Somebody kill me...

How can a 2 hour movie go on for 2 years....?

The movie ended and I LEPT to my feet. I mean, we're talking speed of light... bum to feet in .0003 seconds. I said to Francis, "It's almost curfew, better get going". Larry says, "Wait... do you have to go? Let me get your number." That was the first and only time I ever had the guts to say, "Um... that's okay" and walked out of the house.

Ewe... I think I need to take a shower. I feel CRUSTY just thinking of that story.

I don't think I'll ever eat scrambled eggs again!

What's YOUR worst date experience (try to top me I dare you!)

jps... I must add Lance the Studmuffin really was very cute, my friends never dated losers... they just dated studmuffins with loser friends....... that wanted to date me...

Thursday, August 28, 2008


I have some FABULOUS news to share with everyone today. This information was so graciously shared with me via email today and it just made my day. Being the wonderful, gracious person that I am I decided to share the love. Are you just dying to know yet? Well you'll have to wait a little longer while I pause for a commercial break for dramatic effect....

[Imagine, if you will, a clever little jingle playing in the background that makes you want to get up and dance... and spend some money...]

Simply Bliss Photography: Turning your little rugrats into models.

We make everyone else think your kid is as cute as YOU think they are! :)

Now back to our normal programming. When we left off Roman found out that Marlena was actually an alien from outerspace sent to... sorry... wrong channel. BUT now that you mention it....does anyone happen to know what is going on on Days of our Lives these day? I havent' watched it since high school, but I'm sure Beau and Hope are still having the same conversation they started when I stopped watching it a million years ago. (THAT'S how they stay so youthful and beautiful, they are frozen in the same day forever. I submit that instead of Mountain Standard Time, my state switch to DOOL standard time.)

ANYWAY.... Here's the good news...


Don't believe me? I will state the case as it was presented to me. You be the judge.

What is a chocolate bar made of? Cocoa, sugar and milk.

Cocoa is extracted from the BEANS of the cocoa plant.

Beans are a vegetable.

Sugar is extracted from the sugar beat.

The sugar beat is a vegetable.


It only gets better from there. To turn the chocolate into a chocolate candy bar they add milk. Milk come from cows and has calcium... therefore milk is good for you. Mix the two together....


Does life get any better than this? I submit that it does not!

For those of you NON-chocolate lovers, what is wrong with you?! Do your own homework and justify gummy worms on your own watch. I'm too busy devouring this gooey bar of deliciousness.

So, tell me... do YOU watch soap operas? Is YOUR face covered in chocolate right now too? VENT.

ps... YES Simply Bliss really IS my photographer of choice (as you can see from my little rugrats being included in the ad) She is AMAZING. And YES I am trying to capitolize on an otherwise useless blog! Want me to shamelessly shout out the praises of YOUR business? Email me: we'll talk :)

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Mother of the Year

"nnnnooooo.... I don't waaant waaaterrrrr I waaannntt MIIIIILLLLLKKKKK!"
"Mommy... mommy... mommy... mooooommmmy"

"aaaahhhhhh..... nooooo waaaatttteeeerrrr..... uh oh.." crash, SPLASH
what a loving, nurturing mother.
I'm sorry, I had just HAD it! What is it about the year 3 mile marker that bestows on a child the beloved (I use the word beloved due to the fact that mini me seems to love it... NOT mommy) gift of whining perfection. And when you have a second child they forget to tell you that SUPRISE child #2 may or may not skip right on ahead to future stages if their big brother or sister seem to be enjoying them.
I was outnumbered and surrounded. It was like chinese water torture. Whining and moaning ALL.... DAY... LONG... drip.... drip... drip... I was bound to crack. And crack I did. I screamed at my children. Not just a scream... it was a GROWL. Have you ever read the Twilight series (yes, I enjoy the occasional vampire romance novel. Who doesn't? And yes, if everyone else decided to jump off a cliff, I would probably be airborn within moments. What?)? [If you have not partaken of the awesomness that is this series, you better do a little wearwolf research or you won't understand this:] If I were a wearwolf I would have "phased" right then and there. I must have a little canine in me however, and you would believe it if you heard the snarl that came out of my throat.
Anyway... back to the beginning....
Not the "Parent of the Year Award" method of choice but certainly the 2 or 3 year old method of choice... and lets face it WHO GETS THEIR WAY MORE OFTEN? That's right, not choice, but EFFECTIVE in securing me the desired response: silence.
Oh, sweet silence, why are you so absent from my life? We are so good together.
Yes, my two sweet little whiners froze in their tracks and stared at me. What do you think happened next? If MY mom phased into a wherewolf in front of my eyes when I was but a toddler I would have curled up into a little ball and cried. Maybe they are more advanced than their respective 3 and 1 1/2 year old ages would suggest and they saw the error of their ways and ran to me with open arms telling me they were sorry and pleading for my forgiveness?
Oh... the silence was broken all right.
With peals of laughter.
Apparently I'm not as intimidating as I thought I was.
However, they did stop whining until bedtime so crisis averted right? Right.
I noticed the back door.
Wide open.
With a whole audience of neighbors standing at the bottom of my steps with mouths hanging open to the ground.
Okay, no one was standing at my door, but they may as well have been. I'm sure my ROAR was loud enough for my parents to hear 45 min. south of where I live.
I'm still waiting for the SWAT Team to bust through my door.
If they haul me away... tell my kids I love them.
p.s. No actual children were hurt during the making or reinactment of this story. I LOVE my children and I DO NOT abuse them. I just periodically turn into a maned creature with fangs... that doesn't eat and/or hurt children in any way I might add. Plus I bought them an icecream cone later.
Have YOU ever been caught doing something really embarrasing?

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Is anybody out there...?

Do you ever feel like the crazy old lady that rambles and rambles... and RAMBLES thinking that you have amazing, wonderful, interesting things to say.... and then realize that you've been talking to yourself the whole time?... yeah... me either... or is it neither... I'm not sure.... I would worry about it if I wasn't pretty sure I was talking to myself again....

Well, if you are going to talk to yourself you might as well embrace it right?

Okay, self, [you are looking rather dashing today, I might add, in your crusty workout pants that you still haven't changed out of... some people can just pull ANYTHING off] we are going to have a little talk on something called blog etiquette.

blog etiquette [blog (picture a smiley face over the o) et-i-ket]: conventional requirements as to social behavior on a weblog; proprieties of conduct as established in any community in the blog-o-sphere
synonyms: weblog decorum, weblog propriety, don't be a butt-head behavior
see also: Blog Stalking for Dummies

Okay, okay... now I'M being a butthead. But seriously, this is something I want to talk about.

I have a HUGE confession to make. I know I make them on a daily basis, and they almost always make me look silly or just plain ridiculous. But this is my confession booth, and you as the reader (if you just read that then by my definition, YES you are one of my readers neener neener neener) are my priest. And this one is a doozy. Here goes:

big time
Yes, as a matter of fact that is an embarrasing confession, thanks for asking.
What is a blog stalker you ask
blog stalker [blog (picture another smily face) stol-ker]: one who enjoys reading about the fun times other people have while wasting their life away sitting at a computer in their crusty old workout pants that seriously aren't as cute as they think.
see also: one who needs to get a life
Does anyone else find this blogging world addicting? I think this is my drug of choice. Now, let me clarify, I am not a creepy weird blog stalker. I do not dream about the people I read about, I do not make voodoo dolls, I will not name my next child after one of my blog heros....
although...ummmm...okay... feeling a story coming on.... I may have one time possibly been at a local fast food joint and wondered as a couple little kids on the playground scampered by why I knew their names and why their mom looked familiar and there's a slight possibility I maybe realized I recognized the family from their blog that I had seen on my husbands 10 year reunion blog. If that really had happened I would have gone up to her and fessed up and had a good laugh with her. But since it was waaaay to embarassing to be sure if that actually happened.... I didn't. BUT to my defense she was staring at me the whole time with that old, "I know you from somewhere look" so I'm pretty sure she knew my kids names too. (my blog address was also posted on the aforementioned 10 year reunion blog)
The point is, we all do it. You don't have to admit it, but you DO. It's fun. I've found several old friends that I haven't been in touch with for years through well... lets call it blog hopping that sounds so much nice than stalking. Nice that I didnt' think about that until halfway through my post.
If you are reading this right now chances are you are blog stalking me. That is fabulous. That is what I set this blog up for. Sometimes you have things to get off your chest that you just could never admit to those people that you have to look in the eye every day. So why not admit it to someone that if they passed you on the street would never know that you may or may not have peed your pants a little while laughing at your hilarious little daughter. (to those of you that I do have to look in the face in person... forget you read that last part)
HOWEVER, if you are one of my "blog hopping" buddies will you PLEASE COME OUT OF THE CLOSET? I loooove to read comments. I want to hear what people have to say. I sit at home all day talking to a 3 year old and 18 month old. My daily conversations consist of:"NO, NO, NO" "mmmmm that nummy nummy" and "yaaaaaaaay you went poo poo in the potty!" Sometimes (especially in the winter time when the kids are sick for 5 months in a row) the internet is the only place I have human contact until my hubby gets home from work and I would really like to have something more interesting to say to him than a report on the kids bathroom habits and the intriguing adventures that took place on 5 subsequent episodes of Go Diego Go. Plus, I think you will find that blog hopping is so much more fun when you get involved in the conversations that take place! We all do it, so you don't have to be embarrassed anymore that you are reading a total strangers blog. (unless you start dreaming about me, make a voodoo doll of me or consider naming your next child after me... then you may take your blog stalking elsewhere)

So tell me.... am I the only blog stalker out there (if you are the creepy kind feel free to keep your comments to yourself). Everyone else... tell me what is your funniest, most embarrasing, or heartwarming blog stalking story..

Please share!

Monday, August 25, 2008

Stop and Smell the Cupcakes

I think it's time for me to take a bit of a more serious note for just a moment...

...[clear my throat]... mi mi mi... I'm a bit out of tune for the moment... if by "that moment" we mean my life.

Anyway, have any of you taken a moment to take a look at the crazy world around us and how much pure evil is going on out there? If not you are amazing, don't do it as by doing so you will marr your perfection.


We are living in a world that is just plain full of evil. As I sit in this plush chocolate brown leather chair, typing away on my sweet laptop that my amazing (and HOT I might add) husband so graciously gave me and my children sleep peacfully in their snuggly warm beds with full belly's the rest of the world is falling apart. Villages full of FAMILIES are being blown apart by bombs. Entire nations are starving to death. Brittney spears is bearing offspring. The fact that this moment of my life is happy, blissful even and comfortable I realize is a blessing. The best moments of MY life or yours could be the worst moment of another persons life. The moment I found out my precious little girl had gone back home to Heaven and my world came crashing down around me, another little sweetheart snuggled against her mother as the dr. laid her gently onto her mothers stomache for their first mother daughter embrace... fresh from the arms of the Lord. How can we really be expected to enjoy this life when it seems that every good thing is off set by something bad. When it seems that bad is just around the corner. It seems like when I finally conquer that dreaded vomit inducing spin class and prance triumphantly out the doors of the gym with head and arms held high, a bus is going to come careening out of no where and cream me. Does life ever seem that way to you?

I hope I didn't lose you there in my haze of "depressingness". Because we're about to make a 180. Since I lost my little girl and got into blogging, I have seen so much loss and heart ache. I have met so many wonderful, amazing people that have experienced loss from every imaginable end of the spectrum. I absolutely HATE it everytime I hear of another person that has had to bear that burden. I wish I could take the pain from them.

However, through all this pain and sadness I have seen a miricle occur. I have seen complete strangers come together and show REAL Christlike love for each other. I have seen children of God, that seem to have absolutely nothing in common and no reason to care that the other existed let alone have a reason to reach out in friendship do just that. I have seen people reach out to those in need. Lend them prayers and words of comfort and love. I've heard of people in tears, reading of a complete strangers story, genuinly hurting that someone else they've never met is hurting. I have seen LOVE. Pure unadulterated love that can come from only one source: Our Savior. And there is nothing that can offset that. Satan may try to go tit for tat with the Lord hitting us with a crisis after each blessing we receive. He can take over the media and bombard our senses with images of misery and hatred. But he can't understand or take away that light of love that burns within our hearts when we truly reach out in concern for our fellow brothers and sisters.

I believe that there is good in the world. There is love in the world. In the words of Anne Frank, "Despite everthing I believe that people are really good at heart." Good will overcome.

There are a lot of "poopoo heads" out there, in the words of my 3 year old son. And quite frankly sometimes I'd like to kick them in the shin too, because THEY STARTED IT. But when it gets down to it, even though it sometimes doesn't seem like it in the heat of the moment, this life and the challenges therein is just a speck in the spectrum of the eternity that is ours ahead of us. I really do believe that. And that is another thing that Satan can't take from me. You don't have to believe it. I will still be your friend. But it doesn't change it from being a fact and it doesn't change the fact that life is not just better when you belive that but it is actually AMAZING despite everything going on around the world and in our own lives.

That being said, every once in a while you come across someone that is truly exceptional. Someone that can stop and smell the cupcakes (or nachos in some cases, whatever your preference may be) no matter what kind of turmoil their lives may be in. Someone that seems to still find the humor in life no matter how many punches they seem to take in the ring of life.

My friend Mrs. Dub in one such person. I've never actually met her in person, but she has helped to uplift me and help me see the bright side in life during a particuarly dark period of my life. You see, she too has an angel baby. Her angel actually went back to heaven 5 days before mine. I really feel like the Lord led me to her blog as she was documenting her thoughts and feelings about this bittersweet experience, and it helped me to take on the positive (usually) outlook that I have on the mission my sweet little angel was called on.

It seems like her family has been hit with one thing after another, and they have are about to take another punch today. Her dad has been diagnosed with cancer and is having his esophogas removed today. I don't know them personally, but from what I know of their daughter, their family will take the punch and get right back up and continue the fight. BUT I know no matter how strong you or anyone else thinks you are you can always use the Lords help and you can always use as many prayers as you can get to solicit such help from our Father in Heaven.

So many of my friends responded to my prayer request for Baby Macs family, I thought I would solicit a few more prayers in the behalf of another person none of us know, but who makes the world a little brighter place for those that do come across her.

Thank you!

Sunday, August 24, 2008

He he he

Is there anything in this world more giggle inducing than the high pitched squeels of delight of a baby?!

Other than a little toot escaping from that cute dainty little thing?

Yes... I swear on EVERYTHING that was my daughter, not her mommy!

If you happen to run into her down the road sometime, please don't tell her about this video... I'd like to not be UNinvited to her wedding someday...

Friday, August 22, 2008

Campaign 2008


World War three was erupting in my living room. I came running... praying it wasn't too late. As the smoke cleared I discovered the heart of the action: two little boys flailing around on floor fighting for their very lives.







Oh how I wish at times like these that phrase had the same impact they did on Saved By the Bell. That the world around me would freeze as it was and I could remove the frozen soldiers from their death grips and reposition them to opposite sides of the... globe... SERIOUSLY.

Unfortunately life doesn't work like that so (sans appropriat bomb defusing attire) I entered the warzone and pried the two combatants off each other.

Okay, lets solve this diplomatically.

Defendant #1 state your case.

"He says he has Cocoa Puffs at his house, but he DOESN'T.. I DO!"

Defendant #2 interjects: "YES I DOOOO YOU DON'T!"

Seriously? I shouldn't be suprised. I really wouldn't be suprised if the real WW3 was initiated over such a life or death disagreement. After all wars are usually started by men...

I stood in the middle of them with a palm to each little head holding them back from each other as we resolved the situation and each eventually submitted to the fact that it was okay for both of them to have Cocoa Puffs at each of their respective homes.

Whew catastrophe averted.

Add war diplomat to my resume.

Here is why being a boy is great, though. They were about to end each others lives one minute and the next:

Best buds again!

Maybe I should head down to Afghanistan and put Osama bin Laden in a headlock. Wouldn't that save a lot of time and money? Then maybe we could focus on something more important like getting these gosh dang oil/grocery/everything else prices down so that I can once again afford a good pedicure!

The moral of THIS story:

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


OOOhhhhhhhh I had suuuch a hard day yesterday.

The torture began the moment my eyelids fluttered open at 8:00 am. I had had a pretty rough night. I didn't get to bed until 9pm the night before, so as you can imagine I was still not quite ready to be awake yet. But, much to my chagrin, my empty belly would not allow me the luxury of snoozing a little bit longer. Hunger was gnawing at my vacant gut and I had nothing within my reach with which to satiate this excrutiating pain. Where was my servant?! (Yup, I sure do have a servant, they are great, I HIGHLY suggest you get one for yourself) Why did she not predetermine this need and have sustenance waiting for me when I awoke? Did she not care if I shrivel up and died of starvation?! So I did what any reasonable person would do: I cried.

Think what you will of me, but it got me what I wanted. My servant came RUNNING and within moments I was at the table with a nice bowl of Marshmallow Matey's waiting for me to dig in. I devoured the sugar encrusted dream that was my breakfast (I may have cracked a tooth or two in the process I might add) and when I was done I promptly threw my nearly empty bowl on the floor. What? I said thank you! But what did my hideously ungrateful servant do? She yells at me. Something about making a mess... yadda yadda yadda. I was much too hurt to focus on a word she said. Honestly, sometimes I think she speaks alien! See where this is going?! My life is such a mess!

Then it was time to get dressed. Oh, what to wear?! How do you choose when you are as cute as I am? I finally settled on the perfect outfit and threw myself on the floor so my servant could dress me. UUuuuuugh... don't you hate it when they tickle you and blow on your belly when they are dressing you?! Oh... mine doesn't do that either. Anyway, I spent about 20 minutes admiring myself in the mirror and then I was off to the business of my day.

This is where the REAL catastrophe began. I had responsibilities to tend to, and people were taking my stuff! Seriously! I couldn't find ANYTHING! I screamed for my servant to come right away and find my pirated belongings, A MINUTE. AAAHHHH seriously, no one cares. So I cried again. My servant was definitely annoyed and muttered her alien jibberish under her breath, but whatever, I got what I wanted. She can't stay mad at me and she knows it. I flashed her my best grin and all annoyance disappeared. Good girl. I've trained her well. Now if I could juuuust train her to be more prompt. And to read minds, that would be great too.

Well, it was definitely a rough morning so I needed a little rest. I had already been up for about 4 hours!!! I melted into my luxurious mattress as soon as I touched down. I was just entering dreamland when all of the sudden I was awakend by something squidgy and uncomfortable. Oh no, I pooped my pants again. Drats. Wouldn't YOU cry if you pooped your pants right as you were just getting comfortable. Don't lie, I know you would. And I did. My servant kept yelling through my door for me to stop crying and go to sleep. Excuse me, how do you go to sleep with this stuff in your pants? How embarrasing. She finally gave in and helped me clean up and it was back to sleep.

The rest of my day was a stressful blur waiting for what I wanted, not getting my way, and flying food. Did I mention a lot of tears? Stress will do that to you. So will bonking your head on the floor when you throw yourself down on the ground in an effort to illustrate your immediate life or death need to someone that JUST DOESN'T GET IT. Mine is an exhausting life. Good help is so hard to come by.

The end of the day finally arrived. I had survived, though barely. I can't even begin to imagine the trama that awaits me when I wake up in the morning. Maybe my servant will step it up tomorrow and start determining my needs before I have to throw a fit. Someday she'll learn.

The story you have just read is true, the events are accurately depicted as they took place... the star of the story: no, it wasn't me, I will give credit where credit is due. Little Miss Thang (or Paris Hilton... same difference) plays the role of martyr.

Although I didn't actually poop my pants a little pee may or may not have leaked out when I laughed at little missy painstakingly checking out her belly button in the mirror...but who can be sure.

The moral of this story:


The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree...

In case you are wondering... yes... this is MY 18 month old daughter sitting on the floor eyes glued to the boob tube, with a binky in her mouth clutching her bottle and blaket for dear life.

I made her do some yoga to make me feel better about my child wasting her life away and rotting her mind in front of the tv...

....but apparently that wore her out...

and it was back to couch potatoe mode again.

...yes I am a bad mother.

...yes, she learned this from me.

What are YOUR bad habits?
Do YOU still cling to your binky too?

p.s.... in my own defense: she doesn't usually take babas anymore and the blanky and binky are for nigh nigh only. However it's no holds bar when I am babysitting my friends baby.
pps...if you understood the above stated sentence you are either a mommy or you will make a superb one someday... male or female...

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Sunday with the Garners

Oh joy, I've been Bag Tagged. You've heard of this right? Take all the contents out of your bag or purse and take a picture of it all as it is RIGHT NOW.
Of all days to be bag tagged, I get the opportunity on a Monday. Of course I haven't cleaned it out from church yesterday. What do you think I am... clean?!
Well, I thought this provided the perfect opportunity to provide all you lucky people a sneak peak into a Sunday with the Garners. Lets take a little walk through the contents of my diaper bag. Keep your arms and legs inside at all times and enjoy the ride. Also, if you need to puke, please refrain until after the ride is over and we provide you with a convenient, ridiculously small barf bag. Thank you.
First of all diapers. Notice there are two of them. Lets see if any of you mommy's out there can relate. You are sitting in Sacrament meeting. Your baby is uncharacteristically still and quiet. If only he/she wasn't facing away from you so you could see her perfect cherubic little face has changed from a creamy ivory color to tomatoe red. Then it hits you... a stench that smacks you in the face like a neuclear shock wave. People around you are dropping like flies in the wake of this green mushroom cloud. Then your beautiful, petite little child looks up at you and grins the most angellic little grin. But you won't be fooled. You know what "unangelic" fate awates you.
You think you'd better wait until the little "stinker" is done but people are throwing eye daggers at you and you are pretty sure the real daggers aren't far behind. The "you can't wait a second longer" deal is sealed when your 3 year old starts announcing to the entire congregation, "EEEEEWWWWWEEEEEE mommy, [insert name] POOPED his/her pants! That's sick huh mommy! We don't dooky in our pants we go in the potty!" Good thing you packed the diapers on the bottom of the bag with the hopes that maybe if they aren't conveniently located you won't need them. You fumble your way through unpacking your bag flinging the contents thereof all over the floor and bench as said 3 year old is calling out that he must have every item he sees.
Finally you reach the diapers and fly out the door that the ushers have been holding open for you for 10 minutes in hopes that you would eventually use them. As you "unpackage" your child you are cooing such phrases to him/her such as, "How does such a big stink come out of such a cute little body?" "what do you have for mommy in there bubba/sissy?" and "PUsa!" You know it's true mommy love when you brave those toxic fumes to give your little one a rasberry on their cute little tummy before digging into the contents inside that diaper. Come on, it's just cute to resist, it's just begging for you to blow some spit on it. You've put it off long enough.
Now comes the moment of truth. What IS in there anyway?! You open it up, and there is nothing but a little yellow mark.
It was JUST GAS How can a bunch of air particles make you gag like that?!
Well you're already here. Might as well get him/her into a clean diaper so they can be extra comfy and happy through the rest of the 3 hour block. You change the baby, give him/her another raspberry just for good measure and off you go back into the waiting arms of your hubby in sacrament meeting.
You've finally relaxed when all of the sudden little mis/mister starts grunting... here we go again.
Good thing we packed 2 diapers. Good thing I already re-packed the diaper bag.
Jivin'. (our family's expletive of choice)
I told you mommys talk about poop alot.
I tend to ramble so explanation of the other contents will have to come at another time, or this diaper bag is NEVER going to get cleaned out. STAY TUNED.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Wimp Torture Device

Oooooohhhh... my legs were going to fall off. My head was going to EXPLODE. I was pretty sure I was going to asperate the throwup that I was pretty sure was just waiting for the perfect moment to come spewing out in olympic projectile style spraying all over the perfect perky little face of my spin instructor. Can you go blind from a steady stream of sweat flooding your eyes? I swear I'm seeing halos.



Okay, I have to make a confession. It wasn't even a real spin class. Real spin classes stretch out the bloody, sweaty torture for an hour or more. This was just a 15 minute spin rotation in the boot camp class I attended.

Another confession: my instructor wasn't perky. But it was easier to hate her and wish vomit on her thinking of her in that way. At least she kept quiet and avoided such nausea inducing phrases as "Yaaaay you can do it!", or "Smile through the pain girlies!" or my favorite: "Remember we're working off Mister Ghetto Booty!" Don't name my butt. Ever.

The bikes have a speedometer of sorts on them that tell you how fast you are going. She told us not to go under 85 rpm (? I think that is the measuring unit of choice?) Seriously I was going as fast as my little legs could take me and I could not get that stupid thing over 80.

It must have been broken.

Of course I, thinking I had something to prove (though I'm not sure WHO to), took a bike in the very front so that I wouldn't be tempted to wimp out. Seems like a good plan... expect when the opposite happens and every just sees you wimp out, and possibly go blind. I had to get up 3 times to go get a drink, because sticking out my touch and gulping down the torrents of sweat just wasnt' keeping me hydrated. It's likeunto drinking sea water I guess. I'm pretty sure there were more germs living in my sweat than you would find in a glass of sea water though. Maybe that was lending to the blindness. Poison can make you go blind right?

Anyway, back to the torture. I wouldn't let myself stop. I couldn't. If my instructor had been a bouncy little cheerleader I probably could've walked out and not felt so bad. If I would have run into her later she would have given me a big hug and told me that she thought I did a great job, next time I'd do even better and that my sweaty crusty workout pants were sooooo cute. But, the instructor was a drill sargent. She didn't say much but she didn't have to. I was sitting right in front of her and all she had to do was let her eyes drill holes through my head (wait...THAT is the blindness explanation I knew I smelled burnt flesh when I walked out of there). I couldn't stop. I had to prove I was just as tough as her. She wasn't going to intimidate me. No sir!

"Okay, now I want you to take it up to 90. Don't go under 90. Push yourselves." Ummm... my bike doesn't go up that high. Really, I tried. I pumped my short little legs just as fast as I could possibly get them. You know those veins on the side of your head that sit right about at your temples? You don't want know what it looks like when they burst. But I'm pretty sure that's why my face was purple. Then she hits us with, "Up to 100 for the last 2 minutes. You can do this, push through the burn." YES SIR DRILL SARGENT SIR. There was just no question. We would do it, whether it killed us or not, we would keep going. Anyway, you can do anything for 2 minutes right? When you wake up 2 minutes before your alarm goes off you blink and times up.

Not. In. Spin class.

I tried to find my happy place. Mmmmmm icecream. Great gooey gobs of cookie dough, or chocolate icecream calling my name, dripping from my lips onto a new crisp white shirt..... then the haze wears off and you realize you're not in icecream heaven, but in spin class you know where. But good news, when you space off time flies by so we must be almost done. Good thing too because I was just about to my limit. I was fighting a war with my legs. They wouldn't go any farther. I told them they must. But you hear the amazing olympic stories: when you are at the home stretch, right when you think you can't go any farther, you dig deep and you find just enough strength to pull you past that finish line. And that's what I did. I didn't think it was there, but I reached in deep and found my last reserve... I was going to do this! And then I was going to puke.... BUT I would puke victoriously!

I can't believe it, I can't believe I survived, I pushed myself past my limit!

"Only a minute thirty seconds left girls!"

WHAT THE?! It's only been 30 seconds?!

I quit.

ps... I didn't really quit... but I think I may have spewed projectile vomit on her stone-like face.

pps... I saw the instructor in the halls at the gym this morning. She smiled and told me my work out pants were cute. She seems like a cool girl. Maybe I'll give the class one more try.

ppps... the above picture is not me. It is actually Keanu Reeves. I thought it was appropriate because he looks just as silly on this "hog" as I did on the spin bike. How come no one is paying photogs thousands of dollars to snap ridiculous pictures of me?!

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Life Perspective...

Warning: This is DEEP
My hubby is out of town a lot lately and all these solitary nights have left me a lot of time for some deep introspection. Time to really ponder the true meaning and purpose behind my life. To really reflect on what it is that drives me forward. I came to a startling conclusion last night. I have come to the realization that life truly does take place in chapters. While we are travelling through a particular stage in life it feels like that stage will never end and it is hard to envision what life was like before we started that particular adventure. In retrospect there are some times of my life that seem like a completely different book. It feels so far removed from my present day situation that it hardly seems like it is me playing a starring role in that story... times like the care free days of high school, or my blissful days of lounging by the pool at the good old 'Riv' in Happy Valley, or yesterdays breakfast... seems like so long ago...
But I have come to a startling conclusion. One that was so simple so right in my face that I can't believe it has taken me all these years to see it. While life is made up of different stages each of these stages can be put into one of two categories: The stages where we are obsessed with poo and the stages that we are not.
Here me out on this one.
We start out life in a "not caring" stage. We go at will. Whether sitting in the bathtub, in church or 5 minutes after we FINALLY fell asleep after hours of rocking, swaying and begging from our mothers. We could care less (that one was for you Meili) about what kind of mess we made down there, but we sure broke a few eardrums alerting our parents to the treasure we had waiting for them.
Then we hit the toddler age and we realize poop is the coolest thing on the planet. Seriously. Nothing is more awesome to my 3 year old than feces. He needs his privacy when he poops, but you better come look at it when he's done. "Wow! That was a big one!" he shouts triumphantly. Think it's just a boy thing? Oh no, little Miss Thang is right there fighting for a spot to wave bye bye as we flush the #2 down the toilet. You don't even have to be in the presence of the foul stuff. There is nothing more hysterical to Mister Mischief that the word poop. It doesn't have to be in the context of anything. It doesn't have to come up in a conversation. We could be sitting in total silence and all of the sudden he shouts, "Poo Poo" and proceeds to have a spaz attack.
I think that the "Poop is cool stage" never really ends for most males. I need only one word to prove this theory: Blue Darts.
But for the rest of us we pass through that stage and the foul stuff is appropriately "icky" again.
Then we become parents. All that we have been taught goes out the window. "We don't talk bathroom talk", we don't "watch other people go to the bathroom", we don't "sing and dance when aforementioned person drops the Cosby Kids off at the pool" (sorry, I hope I didn't offend anyone with that one...). No, we forget all the good ettiquette our parents ever taught us when we become parents. Ever been to a mommy/kiddie playgroup? If you don't have kids, you are a dad, or you have held fast to the values your parents have instilled in you you may want to avoid that one. Yes, we mommy's take pride in talking about our childrens bathroom habits or dis-habits (this is my blog- I WILL make up words at will). Know what totally made my day yesterday? When I caught my 18 month old grunting and ran her to the bathroom in time for her to make her own little contribution to the Potty Fairies (wouldn't it be great if teeth weren't the only thing we got quarters for?!) It is a sad reality. But with two young kids, one almost done with potty training (except for at night) and one about (hopefully) to embark on it I definitely fall under this category.
I look forward to the day when I can once again be revolted by the thought of having to wipe another persons butt.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Bunco or Bunko... that is the question...

Okay... I was all prepared with a killer post but SHE beat me to it.

I have nothing to add to this.

Except a picture of my killer battle scars from our roudy divin' dice edition of it last night.

but I got my extra 5 points so it was well worth it.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Mommy Must Confess...

I LOVE these kids...

More than anything in the whole wide world!

Friday, August 8, 2008

My home... no my LIFE has been taken over by midgets!

Some of you may say that I qualify as one who is vertically challenged... BUT I'm talking about elves. Real live little imps that cause mischief and disarray. Objects suspiciously disappearing... and mysteriously REappearing in such places as my shoes, the toilet... most obnoxiously the NOSES of my perfect, un-naughty little children. Messes magically REappear moments after I have cleaned them. ...MY children would never cause such a disaster. Unidentified malodious vapors coming from my spotless childrens rooms.

These little trouble makers have also taken over my car. When I start the car Justin Timberlake (YES, I love the curly mopped beebopper) has been replaced by beebopping frogs belting out another obnoxious version of the abc song. That same gag reflex-inducing smell from the kids rooms has also taken over the car. And the back of my car, previously luxuriously spacious begging for me to go shopping to fill it with treasure is now busting at the seams with strollers, bikes, porta cribs and all sorts of unrecognizable midget proportioned trinkets.

Lets not even get into my purse. That is just embarassing. Lets just say that should you ever take part in a scavenger hunt, come to my house. You'll find everything you need in my elephant bag. What happened to the days when the only thing I slung over my shoulder that was busting at the seam was my wallet spilling over with the bounty of money I made as.... oh... an administrative assistant?! (nevermind)

Since when did child bearing give your life (and your sanity at times) over to the chaotic, naughty whims of the whimsical and previously fictional elves of our childhood fairy tales. I feel as if I have been lied to my entire life. "No Sarah "Justin" (my imaginary trouble making friend) is not real, YOU must have made this mess. Well, I am an adult now and I must insist... MESSES AND MISCHIEF can be caused by unseen forces. I give my word, that if I ever HAPPEN to stuff a thousand cotton balls down the toilet causing it to flood the entire neighborhood... I will take credit for it. Until then... does anyone have the number for a good imp exterminator?!

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Mister Negotator

"Mommy, come sit with me on the chair." my little boy gives me an irrisistible grin and pats the couch beside him. My heart melts.

I told him an hour ago it was bedtime. He went willingly; jumped on my back and we galloped into his bedroom. He knelt beside his bed and said, "Mommy, I want to say prayers tonight." He thanks Heavenly Father for our blessings, for our family and that mommy is a 'good cooker'. He asks that his Daddy come home safely and closes, 'love thee, in the name of Jesus Christ amen.' My heart is swelling with pride.

"Good night bud, " I start to say.

"Now I want to sing you a song Mommy." and he sings me every song he's ever learned in nursery.

"You are a very good singer bud! Now it's time to go to..."

"Wait mommy, I want to talk to you!"

"What do you want to talk about bud?"

"Hmmmm... lets see... lets talk about the animals at the zoo...."

....starting to see where this is going? But I have to give him points for his negotiating skills. Those will come in handy some day right? If his words aren't always convincing that sly little smile will get me every time!

So he proceeds to tell me all about the zoo: we don't like the snakes, they get you all slimy. Bet you didn't know the monkeys are always mad and will punch you in the do now. 'You dont' need to be scared of the bears mommy, they can't eat you they keep them in bear cages.' and on and on and on. His tale is so entertaining I can't bear to leave him so when he suggests we move our story time to the living room I am sold and I tell him 5 more minute.... what a sucker.

Then, comes his adorable invitation to snuggle with him on the couch as I am closing all the blinds. I smile and make my way over to sit with my favorite little story teller. Oh, how I love this little boy!

"....but you have a big bum mommy, so I'll have to sit on your lap."

....back to bed....

ooooohhhhh sooooo close... and yet so far....

Monday, August 4, 2008


Did anyone hear about this story?
I don't listen to talk radio very often... actually I dont listen to much radio at all these days since we invested in our killer mini van that has a tv and dvd player in it (yup...I sure do sport a mini van... I get more and more stereotypical every time I write don't I?) . Since then I spend my trips to my exciting destinations such as Walmart either talking to myself or singing along to the Leap Frog Letter Factory (highly reccommend it btw! the movie not talking to yourself...) BUT my husband listens to it [talk radio] every once in a while. Monday morning I was driving him to the airport and we were listening to KSL talk radio. They posed an interesting question that really got me thinking:
"Do you believe in miricles?"
Hmmm... well yes, I've always been taught to believe in miricles. I've gone to church all my life. I've been taught about all the amazing miricles our Savior performed when he walked the earth. I've been taught about the miricles prophets throught the Old Testament and the apostles performed. I've been taught that the Savior lives on today. That His gospel has been restored to this earth. That a prophet of God has once again been called to lead His church. I've also been taught that because of that miricles continue today.
I've been taught all those things. But do I BELIEVE them?
Some would ask how I could possibly believe in them. I didn't get my miricle I asked for almost 6 months ago.
As Brett and I drove to the hospital on February 8 to be induced to deliver the earthly remains of our daughter we talked about how suprisingly at peace we felt about everything that was happening. Just an hour before I had seen the ultrasound devoid of a heart beat. The dr. had showed me the umbilical chord that had no movement of blood going through it. I could feel my body starting to cramp up, rejecting what it knew was not right.
I knew I could not feel my daughter moving.
And yet, as we drove to the hospital, as I waited for 7 hours for her to arrive, even as I could feel her coming... I prayed. I knew what reality was and really I felt at peace with it, but I still had this little ray of hope that somehow, some way I would get a miricle. That Savannah would pop out and scare the poop out of us with a rip roaring cry. "Psych! Here I am." It doesn't make sense, I know that, I KNEW that. But I still prayed that somehow the dr. was wrong and that everything was okay. And that I'd get to take her home with me, and we'd laugh about the silly drs mistake as we told stories about her at her wedding dinner. If Jesus Christ could raise Lazarus from the dead, surely he could give me one little miricle right?
But we didn't get our miricle.
Or did we?
When the Lord says that he wants us to become as a child (Mosiah 3:19) I guess he didn't mean be whiny when we don't get our way.
I've witnessed plenty of miricles in my day. I've seen my dad happen to get checked out on a whim just in time to find 6 blocked arteries and survive a 6 bipass heart surgery. I've seen my father in law feel the need to get checked out by the dr. just in time to save his life from a very serious pulmonary embolism. When Miss Thang was born the nurse told Brett that he couldn't tell him how many still births he'd seen resulting from the kind of tight knot that she had in her chord.
Based on science alone each of the above mentioned people should be dead, and Savannah should be alive. Why do you think that is? My opinion: miricles DO still exist. But they are according to the will and plan on our Father in Heaven that bases those plans around our reaching our ultimate goal of happiness. I believe that we all are individually known to the Lord... although no matter how hard I try I cannot even begin to comprehend it. I also believe that we each have our own roles in the eternal scheme that He has cooked up. The Lord wants to give us what will make us happy, he wants to give us our miricles. But because He wants us to have the ultimate happiness possible He gives us our miricles when they will lead us in that direction.
But I think that that, in and of itself is the biggest miricle of all.
There are a lot of unhappy people in this world resulting from not understanding that.
But what do you think? Do you believe in miricles? Or are there only chances of fate as we plug along on the 3rd rock from the sun?

Who's THAT kids mom...?!

...when I have kids... they'll NEVER behave like that!

That's what I told myself before I was a mommy. I would sit in sacrament meeting discusted with all the future hoodlums that were jumping on the pews, fighting with their siblings and turning the lights on and off. When I had kids they would be perfect. They would sit quietly on the pew with their arms folded, reading their Book of Mormon Stories quiet book and every once in a while the would lay their precious little heads against me and REVERENTLY whisper, "Mommy, I love you."


little did I know...

Don't get me wrong, my kids do pretty well for a 3 year old and 18 month old. I haven't had to chase them up on the stand... yet. BUT everyone in my ward knows what I'M wearing each week because inevitably all eyes are on me as I am dragging one of my little cherubs out because the reverent, reflective time that they are passing the sacrament is just such a cherry opportunity to make a public service announcement that SOMEONE has to go poop. Nice. It's alright, I don't mind the snickers... I'm right there with everyone else snickering at the little girl that decides to show everyone her Pony panties during the primary program!

I will admit that I am kind of a strict mom, and sometimes I think I forget how young my kids are and what their capabilities are. Also, I guess I'm worrying too much about what those other couples that haven't been blessed with the opportunity of parenthood are thinking. I'm the mean mom that is fighting my kids to actually sit on the bench through sacrament just waiting for that perfect vision of mine to come true, and in the mean time causing more of a commotion than anything. Then just when I think we're starting to conquer sacrament meeting I am informed that little Mister Mischief has been acting a little "aggressively" in nursery. In lay mans terms: my kid is THAT kid. Who's THAT kids mom?!

There has to be a happy medium between understanding your kids developmental abilities and teaching them appropriate social behavior.

Any words of wisdom? REALLY I want to know!!!